I imagined myself as an ambassador of justice and mercy, compassionately mending rifts between two souls torn apart by conflict.

In reality, my job was to sit between two screaming 9-year-olds, encouraging them to speak only when holding the "friendship rock" and begging them to remember why they became "BFFs" in the first place.,”

In fifth grade, I was chosen as a peer mediator for students at my elementary school.

I imagined myself as an ambassador of justice and mercy, compassionately mending rifts between two souls torn apart by conflict.

In reality, my job was to sit between two screaming 9-year-olds, encouraging them to speak only when holding the "friendship rock" and begging them to remember why they became "BFFs" in the first place.

This candid verbal discussion policy worked well in elementary school. Conflicts, our teachers cooed, were best resolved by "open, honest communication." We were free to scream, sigh, cry a little – in a carefully peer-mediated setting, of course.

But then came middle school, where we learned an advanced technique for dealing with conflict: the silent treatment.

Did Liz tell Colleen that Sarah told Courtney that you liked Andy? Better not talk to her anymore. Did Billy rat you out for pouring Kool-Aid in the swimming pool? Looks like you two won't be swapping stories in algebra this week.

Administering the silent treatment was tricky. If Bridget stole your Bonne Bell lip gloss, did that merit a one-day or a one-week shunning? And of course, there was always the problem of how long you could actually go without talking to someone. Most silent treatments in my middle school ended with a teary hug after lunch.

High school brought two new avenues for conflict resolution; at my high school, this consisted of spreading gossip for girls and slugging it out in the cafeteria for guys.

Now, if Liz told Colleen that Sarah told Courtney that you liked Andy, you no longer simply ignored her. Oh, no. You told Courtney to tell Sarah to tell Colleen that Liz said she was getting fat.

Now, if Billy told your parents that it was really you who smashed the car into the light pole, you chucked the friendship rock right at his eye. Score!

Looking back, these methods of addressing conflict sound ridiculous – and rightly so. But I have to say, the way I see disagreements playing out in college is not really any different.

Two of my closest friends from freshman year got into a huge fight over something I can't even remember. They stopped talking – silent treatment. All of my other friends and I chose sides and started bad-mouthing our opponents – gossip.

And I've seen grown men fighting at the bars more than once.

Our immature ways of dealing with conflict are only exacerbated in college because we're theoretically smarter now. We know how to push someone's buttons if we want to. We get into shouting matches during classes, post inflammatory lies on our Web sites and – not that anyone I know would do this – write about them in our columns.

It seems to me that we don't so much attempt to resolve conflict anymore as we do try to perpetuate it to the point where one side messes up. Maybe our elementary school teachers had it right with the whole "open, honest communication" thing.

That's what I think, anyway. If you disagree, you're free to rant about it online or in class or wherever. Or give the silent treatment. Or throw a few punches.

But for my part, I think we'd all be better off sitting down with the friendship rock.

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